Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Josh turns and looks at me from the open door, forehead crinkled, hair sticking up in every direction, looking every inch like a confused puppy, and I have to stifle a snort of laughter. He checks the hallway again before turning back to me. “There’s no one there. Ronna and Edie are gone.”

I don’t know if I should even grace that with a comment. “Duh” seems like a good response, though probably not one he’d appreciate. After all the giggling and stumbling around they must have just heard, I can’t say as I’m surprised that they disappeared.

I can just barely see him bend over, presumably to pick up the paperwork left behind, and it occurs to me that Ronna said something about me being needed for spin. I know it’s important—crazy, insanely important—but I’m still in a vague post-coital haze. Getting dressed and being on camera is not something that interests me at the moment. Never mind that I probably look like I just got laid…oh, God. I probably do have that look. That weird, trying-not-to-smile, spring-in-my-step look that everyone who hasn’t had sex for a while gets but tries to hide. I can’t go on TV like that. My parents are going to see me like that, then they’ll call me to find out why I’m acting so strange.

I blink a couple of times as the door closes, trying to shake my brain out of that line of thought. It’s possible I don’t have blood flowing in all the proper places quite yet. I watch Josh as he shuffles back over to the bed, his head down, focused on the numbers that were left in the hallway. He drops down onto the mattress, not far from my leg that’s still poking out from under the comforter. I wait a moment, almost holding my breath to see what’s going to happen, but he says nothing, completely absorbed in paperwork again. The whole moment is so oddly comfortable that it rattles me down to my core.

I shift off my elbows and flop back down to my pillow, letting out a huff of air. It doesn’t seem to register with Josh; for the moment, that’s fine.

This is…weird.

Well, it is, and it isn’t. Moments like this, where he behaves as if we’ve spent countless nights together, as if the two of us sneaking off to have sex in the middle of the afternoon is commonplace…that’s the part that’s weird. The actual sex part has been anything but weird. Truthfully, it’s been pretty great.

All told, last night’s adventure has already taken on a hazy, almost dream-like quality to me. I wasn’t planning on propositioning Josh at that moment, and I really had no idea if he’d actually take the hint this time and follow me. I think he might have been in a state of shock when we got to his room—he let me take the lead and set the pace for the most part. He wasn’t passive by any stretch of the imagination, but he’s not an idiot. There’s a lot to be said for sleeping with someone significantly older than myself. He’s not opposed to taking direction and trying new things when something else isn’t working, and by God does he have staying power. And enthusiasm.

So much enthusiasm.

I thought I was going to split in two last night. Not that I’m complaining. I just had no idea what to expect, despite copious amounts of fantasies over the years. It was far better than I could have imagined it to be, though part of me still feels like maybe it didn’t really happen. With running on so little sleep, it’s not that unusual for the mind to play insane, vivid tricks, and it really does feel very surreal. The room was dark, save for the light coming from the bathroom, so neither of us really got a terribly good look at each other naked, which just adds to the whole dream-feel. The low-light, the alcohol mixed with sleep deprivation, the years we’d been putting this off only for it to finally come to a head after three campaigns together, everyone showing up in his room in the middle of the night because suddenly no one could sleep, and add in an actual toe-curling orgasm…it’s no wonder my brain can’t catch up.

I shudder a little and feel knees actually go weak at the memory of it all. Of all things, I never expected sex with Josh to be so good. It’s not that I anticipated it being bad, really, but I figured with almost nine years of some form of tension between us, there was no way the act of it could live up to my imagination. I figured it’d be a letdown in that regard, and I was okay with that. But as far as first times go, it was fairly perfect. Aside from the fact that we didn’t really talk much during it all, sticking mostly to grunts and groans with the occasional “harder” and “faster” thrown in for variation. I don’t know if I even said his name last night—maybe my subconscious thought names would make it too real, or make us think too much about what we were doing.

By comparison, this afternoon—less than half an hour ago—was…different. Not bad different, but still different. It felt less clandestine, though we in no way advertised that we were running off for some action. There was more laughter as we fumbled with taking off each other’s clothes, and it felt even more absurd as we tried to find places to drape them so that we wouldn’t look all wrinkled afterward. His room was filled with nothing but sunshine that laid bare all those parts of us that were hidden last night. Every imperfection, every uncertainty, every piece that we might have wanted to conceal was available for scrutiny. In a less-than-shocking turn of events, Josh didn’t seem to care in the slightest about the parts of me that cause me insecurity, not that we took a lot of time to really examine each other this go ‘round, either. Truthfully, naked Josh was nothing but a turn-on for me, and when a guy goes from zero to hard-as-a-rock at just the sight of my bare breasts, it’s an ego boost.

So, this most recent tryst was a bit more…boisterous. Not that we were swinging from the curtains or throwing heavy objects at each other, but I’d say we were definitely more “into” it than last night. I was definitely more vocal and, at times, really, really loud. He seemed to appreciate that part, often staring at me in a combination of wonder and smugness. The downside is that it made the after part a little awkward. I don’t think I knew how to come back from that. How does anyone come back from, for lack of a more delicate way to put it, riding a man like he’s a bucking bronco, to casual conversation? I imagine that if sex was something we’d been doing for more than twelve hours, it wouldn’t be that odd to go from all that…activity to lying side by side in bed. Typically, I’m not a sex-in-the-middle-of-the-day person, so any behavior that might be considered excessive by some can easily be ignored by rolling over and going to sleep. This time, though, I felt wide awake. I still feel wide awake. Josh is showing no signs of fatigue, either.

Maybe we know each other too well. It took some time for us to find our groove again as friends and co-workers, but we still know almost everything there is to know about each other. This sort of intimacy is the final frontier. It’s possible that we don’t have anything left to talk about, no post-coital get-to-know-you conversations. Or maybe it’s just hard to navigate this part right now. Am I thinking too much about it? Am I making this harder than it has to be? We just had a moment while we were watching election coverage where it felt like us and not two strangers who’d tumbled into bed together. It’s easy to fall into old patterns and conversations, but I know we have more in common than electoral maps. Maybe I’m just being too self-conscious about enjoying myself in bed. I’m not normally. But this is Josh. It feels weird that he now knows what I’m like during sex.

Or, again, maybe it doesn’t feel weird. Maybe I just think it’s supposed to.

This part with over-thinking everything is horrible.

I try to make myself focus, at least for a few moments, on anything that makes sense. I know that we kissed a few weeks ago, and my attempt to proposition him at that point didn’t work out so well. At least I found out that it wasn’t because he’d rejected me—he just wasn’t quick enough to get the key. Still, that left me a little gun shy. I knew after that that I wanted to kiss him again, but I couldn’t figure out how. Getting half a second alone with Josh was next to impossible, despite the fact that everyone else on the campaign with us seemed to be mating like bunnies in every spare moment. I know that the stars aligned for us last night and that this time he didn’t hesitate and even though I thought my heart was going to pound out of my chest with an ungodly combination of emotions, we managed to actually have sex. And it was good.

The “good sex” part is something my brain has no trouble grasping right now. It’s just everything else that’s throwing me for a loop.

Of course, that would be why I suggested we “de-stress,” despite our awkward encounter before the sun even contemplated rising this morning, with what might have been the Grand Canyon between us in bed, him walking in on me getting dressed and accusing me of sneaking out—which is what I was doing, even though I hate myself for it, and even more for lying to him about it—and me very doggedly avoiding having a conversation with him, there were a lot of tiny moments that felt very natural. Him leaning over me to check the news sites, him watching me get dressed, going for coffee, all things that felt as if they were part of the natural order of things. All of that added up to me realizing not that long ago that I still wanted him. I mean, I wanted him bad. There was nothing about our encounter that felt like an itch that had been scratched. It just left me wanting more.

Hence round two.

I sigh. My thoughts are going in circles. Not even real circles, either—abstract, Picasso-like circles that aren’t actually round but instead have a million tangents and make less sense than one would think possible.

I shift a little and manage to fold my arm under my head, giving myself a better view of Josh who, not surprisingly, is still completely absorbed in the information before him. I tilt my head and watch him, feeling oddly fascinated. Josh is a good-looking guy. This is not revelatory. He’s absolutely adorable, at least when he wants to be. Right now, though, it’s more than that. Right now, he’s making my heart flutter. He’s making my stomach twist. His profile is actually rugged. An old lyric shoots through my mind—“Although he may not be the man some girls think of as handsome.” I know there’s more to it, but I absolutely forbid myself to think of it. I know how I feel about Josh, even if at this moment I’m not at all prepared to face it. And really, a lot of women think of Josh as handsome, or at least enough to form an insane, online posse. He’s just not traditionally “handsome.” He starts off as cute and goofy and almost charming, and once you get to know him, either you want to kill him or you can’t stop staring at him.

“Is my face frozen in an odd way?”

I blink a couple of times, Josh’s voice startling me out of my reverie. Tilting my head, I grin a little, really studying his profile. “Little bit.” His eyebrow lifts for a fraction of a second and I roll my eyes. “Not entirely unattractively.”

He huffs out a little bit of air that isn’t quite a laugh, and I notice that he’s hunched over, his shoulders slumped, his body already looking so tense I could bounce a quarter off of it. Without really thinking, I stretch out my leg for a minute, loosening the kinks, and drape it over his thigh. I brush my toes over the back of his calf, the muscles there twitching beneath the fabric of his pants. Both of his eyebrows shoot up, his forehead transforming into a dozen little hills and valleys, but other than that, he has no response.

I wait, watching him. I’m okay with taking the lead—truly, I am—but I wouldn’t mind if he’d give something back instead of freezing like a deer caught in headlights.

Then his hand lands on my knee. For a very long moment, nothing happens other than that. His eyes never leave the paperwork still clutched in his left hand. His thumb twitches. It hardly registers at first until it happens again, and my eyes fly to his hand. Very delicately, his fingers start to stroke my skin. It’s not sexual. It’s feather light.

It makes my breath catch in my throat.

Chapter Text

So casually it might actually be unconscious, he rubs small circles into my skin, his fingers trailing halfway down my calf to part way up my thigh. It’s such a quietly intimate moment that my heart nearly shatters into a million pieces. Despite how new this is, what his hand is doing makes me feel like we’ve been together for years, as if he always seeks out some part of me to ground him.

I swallow heavily. Maybe that’s not far from the truth.

His fingers tighten against me a little, and I stroke my toes against his leg in response. He shifts a little, turning his body toward me, and the paperwork flutters to the floor. His left hand takes over for his right as he pulls himself a little closer. With an odd combination of gentleness and determination, he shoves the blankets off me. My entire body tenses and I try not to think about the fact that I’m completely naked as he stares at me.

It’s disconcerting. I feel insanely exposed and more naked than just being without my clothes.

He watches me for a few more moments, not speaking, not even blinking, and I try my best to pretend that I’m not fazed. His mouth quirks up for a second before he bends down, trailing his lips gently over the inside of my knee. I let out a long, shuddering breath, and he doesn’t hesitate as he slides his lips up my thigh, his teeth making tiny nips over the sensitive skin there. My brain has gone hazy and it takes a few moments for me to catch up to where this is heading. Before I can protest and tell him it’s not necessary, his mouth lands directly between my thighs.

My eyes shoot open for a few seconds before slamming shut. My back arches completely off the bed and I feel Josh grab onto my hip to pull me back down. I bite my lip and whimper, one hand fisting in the sheet beneath me, the other grabbing at his hair. I let him go a moment later, my brain somehow registering that I shouldn’t hurt him. My back arches again and I let out a long, low moan.

His tongue presses against me, hard and fast, relentless.

I pry my eyes open to look at him, but all I can see is the top of his head.

“Josh,” I manage, his name falling from my lips like a plea. “Oh, God, Josh.”

His arms wrap around my thighs and I feel him shift a little, moving closer, though his mouth never stops moving. The pit of my stomach tightens. This can’t be happening.

His head tilts and he looks up at me. I think I stop breathing. His eyes…God, his eyes. They’re so dark and…hungry. I press myself against his face as an orgasm tears through me, catching me completely off guard. An unintelligible noise rips out of me as I thrust against him, my nails gripping the sheet so tightly I think I’m going to tear holes. His arms around my legs are the only things keeping me from flying off the bed.

I grit my teeth as my hips thrust against Josh’s mouth, trying desperately to keep myself somewhat in check. I’m not entirely sure why, but it feels important in that moment. However, his tongue never stops moving against me. Makes it hard to control myself.

I turn my head and try to push my face into my pillow, letting out another yell before my body starts to droop. He lets up simultaneously, his mouth moving to my inner thigh as I gasp for air.

Well, that was embarrassing.

I thought only adolescent boys were supposed to pop that fast.

Mentally, I roll my eyes at that, even as I try to catch my breath. “Pop.” I’ve been spending too much time with guys lately. Still, I never expected to come so quickly and with what amounts to very little stimulation.

I swallow heavily and force my eyes open, seeking out Josh once more. He’s still parked between my thighs, his lips tracing delicate kisses across my way over-sensitized skin. His eyes are twinkling and what I can see of his mouth is set in a smug smile. I supposed he’s earned that, though. I’d kick him, but I think my quivering legs would weaken my argument.

Bastard.

He sits up a little, and I can’t help but feel disappointed at the loss of his mouth on me. He shrugs off his shirt and tosses it somewhere behind him, but before I can open my mouth to mention that it’s going to get wrinkled, he leans forward and presses a kiss to my hip. His teeth scrape against me and I’m shocked at how erotic it feels. He moves across my stomach, his eyes darting up to meet mine every few seconds. I’d swear he’s looking for approval, though how he could possibly think he’s doing anything wrong at this point is beyond me.

I reach down and run my fingers through his unruly hair, tugging at the back of his head. He ignores me, kissing low on my stomach for a few moments before moving to just under my ribcage. I tug at his head again and this time he crawls up me, his body hovering over mine, nothing really touching me, before he leans down to kiss me. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and tug, trying to pull him closer, but he resists. I let out a frustrated noise but he ignores me, giving me one more kiss before returning to his position between my thighs. I can feel him breathing on me and my body tenses; I’m not sure I can survive another assault at the moment.

He grins at me, pressing his lips to my leg instead. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Even though he’s already done it, I still want to tell him it’s not necessary. This part has always felt more like something you do when you’ve been with someone for a while, or at least more than a few hours…if we can even be classified as “together.” It’s intimate in a way that sex isn’t, at least in my mind, and my brain is having a difficult time wrapping around it being Josh of all people with his face between my legs, his tongue that should be classified as a lethal weapon…

Why don’t I want him to do this?

I let out another long breath. His hand comes up and his fingers brush over me, his touch lighter than a feather. My hips jump up anyway. His smile gets even broader, those damn dimples of his almost making him look like a little boy. He runs his fingers over me again and I bite my lip as I try not to react.

A tactical error on my part; he just applies a bit more pressure with the next pass and I squeak in surprise. He kisses my thigh again, easing off just a bit with his fingers, stroking me carefully. He manages to avoid any area that’s still overly-sensitive, but what he’s doing now feels really damn nice.

He leans forward a bit, his mouth moving to the top of my thigh. He sucks at the skin there and my eyes flutter shut for a moment. I crack one eye open a moment later, needing to be prepared for what he’s going to do next. For the moment, he seems quite content to explore my flesh. His head does move a little, sliding over to my stomach, and I can actually see the muscles there twitch under his attention. His hand moves to my thigh and shifts my leg over his shoulder, holding it in place. Almost at the same time, I feel the fingers from his other hand slide into me.

“God!” I gasp, my entire body tensing for a second before it willingly and happily accepts the invasion. He pauses, though, and I glance down at him to find him already watching me.

“You okay?” he whispers, his eyes wide, and I’m actually touched by his concern. Most guys wouldn’t be.

“I’m good,” I manage to get out, shuddering as his hand starts to move within me. I can’t help but smile, though, at least a little. This feels amazing. I don’t know if he’s gifted or if he’s just that in tune with me, but he seems to know exactly what to do to get the biggest response from me.

That would explain my rapid-fire orgasm just a few minutes ago, and that it doesn’t feel like this one will be much different.

Chapter Text

I look down at him again and find his chin propped up on my pelvis, staring at me with a focus that’s usually reserved for political strategy. If he does something and I jump, he does it again to make sure it’s not a fluke. If I don’t react to something else he tries, he immediately moves on. It’s oddly refreshing. I’ve been with more than my share of guys who take directions like, “slow down,” or “to the left” to mean, “do exactly the same thing the entire time because that’s definitely working for me.” It’s a sad state of affairs to be my age and to be able to count on one hand the number of sexual partners who’ve cared about my orgasm just as much or more than his.

My entire body twitches as I gasp, fisting my hands into the sheets again, and I feel more than see him smile. I’d say Josh is making up for my previous encounters in spades.

I feel his lips press against my stomach again, sucking little bits of skin into his mouth. My head rolls back as tiny gasps and moans fall out of me. It’s ridiculous. I shouldn’t be this wound up from him kissing random parts of my body. Then again, part of him is inside of me, his fingers keeping up a slow, steady, torturous rhythm that feels like heaven and hell at the same time.

I feel him move his mouth lower and barely crack my eyes open again to try to keep track of what he’s doing. With more care and tenderness than I would ever expect, his lips explore almost every inch of me, all while actively avoiding the parts of me that feel like they’re about to throb off entirely.

Watching Josh’s head move between my legs is insanely erotic. It is, of course, wildly intimate and it’s throwing me off my game, but it’s also amazing. What he’s doing, how it feels, that it’s him—all of it is amazing. I’ve wanted this with him for so long, it just doesn’t feel real. It feels like it has to be a dream. It has to be. I’m going to wake up and it’s still going to be two years ago and we’re still going to be boss and assistant and nothing will have changed.

His nose nuzzles against me and I jump, jarred out of my thoughts. He pauses just for a fraction of a second before rubbing his nose against me again, and again. Then a few more times for good measure. My hips undulate in response, desperately trying to get closer, to create more friction. He actively avoids direct contact—though his fingers never stop thrusting, curling, exploring—but he makes sure to pay attention to every edge and line. It’s an incredible foreplay, which seems redundant since we’ve already had sex this afternoon, never mind that I’m still processing my super-speed orgasm. I feel my entire body twitch with anticipation, a delicious knot forming low in my stomach.

His mouth is really unbelievable. I don’t know that I would have ever pegged Josh for an oral guy, but I sure as hell won’t fight it.

I reach down again and run my fingers through his hair, scratching my nails carefully on his scalp, and I can see the corners of his mouth curve up in a grin. Even though he can’t see it, I smile in response, scratching his head a few more times for good measure.

He sucks at my skin suddenly, right at the apex of my thigh, and I yelp, accidently grabbing a fistful of his hair at the same time. It doesn’t seem to bother him. He sucks at me again, his teeth scraping over me in the process. The fingers within me speed up suddenly, his motions purposeful, an endgame in mind instead of just trying to get me revved up.

“Josh,” I moan, my voice high and breathy.

“Mmmm?” he answers, not even glancing my way. I shiver anyway.

“Josh, please,” I whisper, my entire body tense. I grip is hair so tightly that my knuckles go white before I let him go. The line between pleasure and pain is very thin, and I don’t want to cross it at this point.

He looks up at me, tilting his head just a little. I briefly wonder if he’s going to make me beg for it, or ask for specifics, but finally he just smiles at me. Not a smirk or anything self-satisfied or teasing, just a sweet, charming smile. “Okay,” he answers in that funny way of his that sounds more like “ah” than “oh.” The arm holding onto my thigh unravels and slides up my body until he can reach my breast, grabbing onto it gently. A fraction of a second later, his mouth makes contact with me, and I almost weep with how good it feels.

My brain simultaneously shifts into overdrive and tries to shut down. It tries to analyze everything he’s doing, the way his tongue is moving fast and hard against me while his mouth creates an amazing suction, the way one of his fingers keeps pressing up against me and hitting a spot that is out of this world, how his other hand is somehow gently rolling my nipple between his fingers. At the same time, it’s all together too many stimulants at once and my brain can’t process it.

“Oh, God, Joooooosh,” I gasp out; I already love being able to say his name during sex. I’ve said it on my own often enough, and it’s nice to have someone else hear it. Particularly, it’s nice to have him hear it.

He shifts the angle of his hand, he moves his tongue in a different direction, and my eyes fly open. I swear I can see stars.

“Christ! Right there! Right there, right there, right there, right there!” God love him, he stays there. Right there. I’m right at the brink of orgasm, staring into a glorious abyss but not being allowed to jump. It’s actual agony, and I almost don’t want it to end.

I slide one hand down and grab at his bicep, digging my fingernails into his skin so hard that it’s possible I draw blood. My other hand reaches up and grabs the pillow beneath my head, holding for dear life. It’s exquisite, being right on the brink like that, feeling as if I’m holding on by a fingernail. I honestly don’t know how long this feeling can last.

My body shudders and stiffens, answering my question—it can’t last much longer. Not without insanity setting in. His hand squeezes my breast, making me glance down at him. His eyes are on me again, focused, darker than normal, and completely unnerving.

And I’m done.

My legs curl up and my back arches off the bed, my mouth falling open as strange, guttural noises escape me. My entire body freezes as my orgasm nearly paralyzes me, the feeling so intense that I stop breathing for a few seconds.

He doesn’t stop. His fingers thrust in and out of me, his tongue moves back and forth rapidly, and I swear that right now, my head’s going to explode.

A few long moments later, I finally breathe again, gasping for air as I moan. My body unlocks and my hips push against him frantically, desperate to prolong this sensation. It’s already bordering on too much, but my body’s going to have to give out without any help from my head.

“Josh,” I finally manage to gasp, his name pouring out of me like a mantra. “Josh Josh Joshjoshjoshjoshjosh!” I shriek at the end, bucking so hard that I manage to dislodge his mouth. I collapse against the bed, panting as if I just ran a marathon. I feel him slide his fingers out of me and my entire body shudders, the tail-end of the orgasm working its way through me. I vaguely feel him press his lips against my thigh—gentle this time, soothing—but my brain is still trying work its way back from the incredible high.

I let go of the death-grip I have on his forearm and flex my fingers for a moment before shoving them gracelessly into Josh’s hair. Turns out, I really like playing with his hair. He has insane amounts of it—despite the fact that it’s receding—and it’s incredibly soft. As an added bonus, he seems to really enjoy it; his eyes close, his head tilts into my hand, and if he could purr, I think he would.

Chapter Text

He shifts a little and presses a kiss to my hip, trailing his lips across my stomach before moving up to my sternum. He settles there, nuzzling his face against my breasts, and I shudder again. The fabric of his pants against my naked flesh is a heady combination. He manages to slide his arms around me, and I automatically return the favor, holding him close. I let out a long, shaky breath as I try to calm my still wildly-pounding heart. I clear my throat, hoping it doesn’t come out as scratchy as it feels right now. “What was that about?”

“What was what about?” he mumbles, pressing his lips against my breast, making me shudder all over again.

I sigh and shift a little, surprised at how awkward it feels to say the words. “All the…uh…going down on me…stuff.” I roll my eyes at myself. I’m an adult. Currently, I’m a naked adult lying in bed with the guy she’s fantasized about for the better part of a decade—a guy who, for what it’s worth, took no convincing at all to run off in the middle of the day to have sex—and I can’t manage to say “going down on me” with any amount of confidence or grace.

“Oh. I just wanted to make sure that—I mean, I didn’t know if you’d really…”

My eyebrows jump up in a combination of surprise and amusement. Josh Lyman, of all people, is suddenly bashful? The man that literally just had his face between my legs is turning vaguely pink at the idea of talking about it? It’s on the tip of my tongue to tease him about it when my brain catches up to what he’s asking, and my heart aches at the sweetness of it.

“I didn’t fake it, Josh,” I answer softly, scratching my fingers across his scalp again.

“It’s okay if you did,” he answers, suddenly avoiding my eyes. “Last night, today…I know it’s different for women, so I just wanted to make sure that you—”

“Josh.” I give his hair a tug, waiting until he looks up at me. “I promise you—I didn’t fake it.”

“But—”

“Josh!” I exclaim, exasperated. “I wouldn’t lie about this. Why would I lie? What would I get out of faking an orgasm and then lying about it?” Do women really fake it that often? Do they fake it that often with him? Is that why he’s so worried about it? Because Josh is good at sex. I can’t imagine any reason that any woman he’s been with in the past wouldn’t have been thoroughly satisfied. Or has he just listened to too many bitter women who maybe don’t participate in the act as much as they could and wind up feeling slighted? Maybe he’s watched a few too many romcoms somehow and has gotten the idea that because some women fake orgasms some of the time, that all women are faking it, especially the first time she has sex with a guy.

“Are you sure?” he asks, lifting his eyebrow at me speculatively.

I roll my eyes and cup his face in my hands, pulling at him until he gets the hint and slides the rest of the way up my body. “I promise you. I didn’t fake a thing.” The corners of his mouth curve up into a soft smile just before he presses his lips to mine.

It’s always a little weird—kissing someone after oral sex. You really can taste yourself in their mouth, and it can be odd. For some reason, though, it’s not weird with Josh. It’s actually kind of amazing. He’s kissing me, our mouths are moving slowly against each other’s, our tongues are moving in a strange, perfect tandem, and I’m everywhere in him. No—we are everywhere. I can taste him, too, the multiple cups of coffee consumed in too short of a time, the pastries and junk food he’s ingested all morning without noticing, and whatever it is that makes him Josh. All of it’s there, both of us, blending together into something that somehow makes sense.

Or maybe my brain’s on overdrive from having four orgasms—non self-induced, I mentally specify—in the space of twelve hours and I’m romanticizing everything.
Before he settles against me completely, I snake my hands in between us, fumbling with his belt buckle. I tug at it a few times before I realize he must have done something funky to it after hastily throwing on his pants just a little while ago. I feel my lips quirk at the memory of him stumbling around like a newborn animal while Ronna stood outside the room, Josh grabbing any piece of clothing he could find, including my own pants that he tried to stuff himself into.

The thought of Ronna makes me remember that I have a job I’m supposed to be doing right now. Lou still needs me to go on TV and behave like a normal human being.

That thought, however, is pushed from my mind again as I feel Josh’s hands join mine, our fingers tugging and pulling together to get the stubborn strip of leather to succumb to our will. I grin against his mouth at the absurdity of it all before he breaks away, pulling himself up to his knees. Smiling at me ruefully, he yanks at the belt a few times until it finally gives up the fight. Within moments, he has his pants undone and shoves them down to his thighs before collapsing against me, his mouth finding mine instantly. His hands tangle in my hair, tugging just hard enough at the strands to make me shiver. I draw my feet up and push at his pants with my toes, managing to shove them down to his ankles before he takes over, kicking his legs to remove them the rest of the way. I can’t help but gasp a little at the friction he creates in the process, the thin cotton of his boxers rubbing against me, and the odd, detached part of my brain notices that he’s only a little hard against me.

Not that I’m judging. He’s in his forties and I know it can take some time to recover after sex. Hell, I’ve been with guys significantly younger that haven’t been able to rouse themselves after sex enough to see if I have a blanket to cover me, never mind be working toward a second round so quickly after the first. He doesn’t seem concerned with it. He actually seems quite content to pay attention to me for the time being.

I’m not gonna fight it.

Never mind that Josh is an amazing kisser. I spent a lot of years trying not to let myself think about it too much, and for the last several weeks, it’s been almost all I could think about. That first kiss, though…it wasn’t any indication of what he’s really capable of.

His lips trail down my neck, gently sucking and nipping at my skin. I wouldn’t be surprised if I wind up with tiny little red marks all over my body by the end of this, but I can’t seem to bring myself to care. I’m sure it’ll matter when I’m on national TV with a hickey on my neck, but right now…I never want him to stop.

He comes to the hollow of my throat, his tongue tracing delicate patterns there, and I feel him grab at my left hand, carefully pulling it from its place in his hair. He twines his fingers with mine as he stretches our arms out across the bed, and my heart flutters in an odd way.

He kisses my collarbone for a few moments before looking up at me and smiling. “You have so many freckles.” I have no idea how to respond to that; of all the things we’ve said and done between last night and this afternoon, that feels the most intimate. I can’t even begin to explain why, either. I do actually have a lot of freckles. The combination of Irish and Italian DNA left me with fair skin that, miraculously, doesn’t burn a lot. It does freckle, however, but not in a way that he would have really seen before now. My chest, my shoulders, my arms…all of it fairly covered in slightly less pale dots, sometimes giving me the illusion of not being entirely pasty.

He drops his head down to my skin, his lips immediately landing on a freckle. Moments later, he slides to the next one, then another, and another, slowly working his way from my clavicle to my shoulder. His fingers squeeze mine, and my breath catches in my throat. I glance down at him, but he’s focused on my freckles, his mouth attempting to make contact with every one of them. There’s a part of me—albeit a very small part—that wants to tell him that we probably don’t have time for this sort of thing. Whatever “this sort of thing” is. I don’t hate it—I don’t hate it at all. I guess I’m just not sure what his goal is.

He sucks against my skin gently, and something he said earlier floats through my hazy brain. He kept mentioning it being romantic, or at least how certain things were making it less so. …Is that what he’s trying to do now? Last night was fantastic, and earlier today was a hell of a lot of fun, but I don’t suppose “romantic” is a word I’d use to describe either encounter. We’ve spent most of a decade lusting after each other—I’m taking a not-so-big leap of faith in assuming he’s felt the same way—and that didn’t leave a lot of room for much other than the actual act. Not that I’m complaining about that; I certainly don’t feel like I was missing out on anything. We just didn’t do the whole seductive, candlelight thing.

Does he want romance? Does he want romance with me? Josh has never struck me as someone overly romantic, but what do I know? There had to be something that kept bringing Amy Gardner into his orbit, something other than the good sex part.

I shudder, and this time it’s not entirely because of the magic of Josh’s mouth. Thinking about him with anyone else right now is weird and not at all exciting.

Fortunately, he doesn’t notice that I’ve managed to distract myself. He brings our joined hands to his lips and kisses my knuckles, and I feel a shiver of an entirely different sort run through me. He untangles our fingers and smiles at me, settling himself against me to kiss me once more. He takes hold of my right hand stretches it out across the bed, and I squirm against him a little in anticipation of the next round of what my mind can only describe at the moment as worship.

He drags his lips down my neck again before starting in on the freckles on the right side of me. My hips buck a little, and I realize we’ve been slowly pushing against each other for some time now. He’s made quite a bit of progress in his recovery, his erection rubbing against me promisingly. I pull my legs up, running my feet up the outside of his thighs, until I can hook my toes in his boxer shorts. I shove them down to his ankles in one quick motion, reveling at the feel of being pressed against him. His eyes dart up to meet mine, and we grin simultaneously. I slide my fingers through his hair and give him a gentle tug, but he ignores me, intent on paying homage to all of my freckles.

Maybe it makes sense, though. Despite our odd run-in this morning, he was very sweet. Awkward as hell, but sweet. Earnest, I guess. I’m not entirely sure what was going on his head; part of me is sure that he woke me and pretended to be asleep, but if that’s the case, I haven’t been able to figure out the motive. Was it to make sure I was really there? To get me out? To talk to me? But, he was sweet, in his uncomfortable, rumpled way. Sucking toothpaste out of the tube is weird, but I appreciate what he was doing. The way he looked at me when he asked how I was feeling, everything about how disheveled and sleepy he was when he found me hastily throwing on my clothes. I don’t know if that was his attempt at romance, or to maybe make up for the definite lack of finesse and restraint from both of us a few hours before. Maybe that’s what this is about now.

Maybe I should just relax and let myself enjoy the fact that right now I’m with a guy who wants to pay this sort of attention to me, despite the fact that we have so many other things we should be doing right now. God knows it has to be good for him to be distracted right now, and if he wants to focus his considerable energy on me, who am I to argue?

Chapter Text

I realize I’m just going to have to live with Josh kissing every bit of me that he can, so I slide my hand from his hair to his shoulders. I stroke my fingers over his spine, grinning broadly when I feel him shudder against me. I trail my fingertips gently over as much of his back as I can reach, enjoying the way his body reacts to my touch even though he never pauses in his own task. I feel him stiffen against me slowly, coming back to life and putting pressure on places that make my head spin.

I tilt my head to kiss his shoulder and manage to work my hand between our bodies. He shifts a little to accommodate me, and I waste no time in taking hold of his erection. He gasps, his head popping up to stare at me, wide-eyed. I just bite my lip and stroke him gently, reveling in the sensation of him getting harder by the second beneath my touch. I love the feel of him. I love that I do this to him. I haven’t had a lot of time to explore him like this—mostly, it was just minor groping before getting to the main event. This whole thing where we touch each other and get each other wound up is pretty great, though.

He swallows heavily, and I watch his Adam’s apple bob forcefully. I pull at him gently, stroking my hand up and down his length, and his eyes slam shut, a noise that sounds like a grunt and a growl emanating in the back of his throat. His fingers, still laced with mine, squeeze tightly, and I tighten my hand in response, taking care to make sure the hand that’s on his erection doesn’t tighten automatically.

“Josh,” I whisper, and that’s all it takes. He wraps his arms around me and crushes me to him, kissing me frantically. I try to hold onto him, but my hand winds up trapped at an odd angle between us. I pull it free and grab onto his ass with both hands, pulling him against me as hard as I can. I cry out at the sensation, the sound muffled by his mouth, and he pushes against me again. The friction is intense. He’s gasping into my mouth as we move against each other, our bodies mimicking everything about the act of sex.

He shoves away from me suddenly, rearing back onto his knees, and I stare at him in shock as he pants, his chest heaving, his erection straining toward me. I swallow as I try to catch my breath, but it seems futile. My entire body is on high alert, anticipating his hands, his body, on me again. I try to control my hips as they arch up toward him, desperate for contact.

His eyes never leaving mine, I can see peripherally as his hand makes its way between my thighs. “Ohhhhhhh,” I moan as his fingers make contact, moving over me gently. I’m not sure if this is revenge for the mischief caused by my hands earlier, but I’ll give him an hour or two to stop.

I let out a shaky breath and prop myself up on my elbow, reaching across my body to the nightstand. I yank open the drawer and fish around, shoving aside various items, including what is probably a Bible, until I stumble across the box of condoms he pulled out last night. I didn’t ask how he came to have these on him at this particular moment in time, and I’m going to let myself believe it’s only because of our botched hook up a few weeks ago and he bought them afterward in anticipation.

I moan again suddenly, nearly dropping the damn things in the process, as just the tips of his fingers push into me. My hips push against the contact, trying to get him further into me, but he uses his other hand to hold onto my knee, preventing me from getting closer. I fumble with the strip of condoms, my hands shaking embarrassingly as I manage to tear one free. I throw it at him and it smacks him in the chest before bouncing onto the bed, and his hands finally stop their ministrations. I don’t let myself stop to think before I reach out and grab his erection, still damp from rubbing against me. His hips jerk as he struggles to rip open the little packet. He pulls his hips away a moment later, almost violently, and I can’t help but smile as I watch his forehead crinkle, all of his attention focused on the condom. I feel an enormous relief as he finally pulls it free and watch, fascinated, as he rolls it over himself.

With great care, he drapes himself over me again, my legs falling over his hips to pull him closer. His lips find mine again, kissing me leisurely. My body hums in anticipation, and part of me wonders what he’s waiting for. It occurs to me almost instantly that this is part of the romance. I feel silly for feeling so amazed by it—because it’s not as if I’ve never had someone be romantic with me. I’ve had relationships, I’ve been with nice guys, sweet guys, guys who weren’t completely selfish in bed and wanted to do things like light candles and give me flowers. But this is Josh. Josh who’s never seemed to be any good at this, or hasn’t wanted to be any good at this. And it’s Josh. My mind is still reeling at the thought of being with him like this. I was really beginning to think it’d never happen. Maybe he likes this part as much as I do. Maybe he’s just not into rushing the moment. Maybe he just likes kissing me.

He comes up for air and smiles at me, using one hand to smooth back my hair. “Are you—”

“Yeah,” I answer immediately, shifting myself beneath him, rubbing my hips against his. His other hand disappears between us, guiding himself into me. I bite my lip at the sensation; he moves slowly, presumably reluctant to hurt me. My mouth drops open as he pushes into me, all the way to the hilt, and I let out a little gasp. For me, there is nothing like that first moment a guy is in me. It’s intense and a little surreal and incredibly powerful, knowing that I can turn a man on that much. That sensation is always the part I need to adjust to.

I wrap my arms around Josh and dig my nails into his back, taking deep, calming breaths. He stares at me, his dark eyes almost unnerving. His arms wrap under my shoulders, holding me tight against him. I shift a little again, allowing my hips to open a bit more. I can feel twinges of soreness in my joints and muscles, but nothing that I’ll be thinking about in a minute or two. As long as I can manage to walk in a mostly straight line after this, I’ll consider it a win.

I give him a little smile and his face relaxes. He leans down to kiss me and shifts his hips, pulling back all the way before pushing back into me slowly. He does it again, moving at a very deliberate pace, and it makes me think of an odd idiosyncrasy of mine—I’ve never really orgasmed in standard missionary before. Josh didn’t seem to care at all that I was on top last night, or just a little while ago, for that matter, letting me take the lead, fingers digging into my hips and pushing my hair to one side, going along with whatever worked best. I wouldn’t say this reversal of positions was a conscious decision on his part; it just happened to be the way we were at that moment. And really, I just had to two truly incredible orgasms back to back, never mind the one from us running in here like horny teenagers less than an hour ago. When I consider all that, I can live with having sex that just feels good. There’s nothing wrong with that, anyway.

And this feels really, really good. This slow draw back/thrust in thing feels kind of incredible.

I reach up and kiss his neck, reveling in the salty flavor of his skin. He’s a little damp, our exertions getting to him, but I love that part, too. He answers by pushing into me a little harder, and it takes everything in me not to bite him in response. I don’t think I want to leave any publicly visible marks on him at the moment. Instead, I open my mouth and gasp, tightening my arms around him. He pulls back again, and this time I thrust my hips up to meet his, determined not to be passive with this.

“God, Donna,” he moans, and I can feel it reverberating under my lips. I push up again, meeting his every push with one of my own. I don’t try to speed us up—this pace actually feels amazing—but I can feel his muscles tightening under my fingertips. “I’m not going to last very long if you keep doing that.”

I look up at him in surprise, pulling my lips from his neck. “Really?” is the only answer I can manage at that moment, my voice high and tight.

He slows his movements down to the gentlest of caresses, our hips coming together carefully, delicately, and my entire body shudders. I slide one of my hands up to his neck, running my fingers through the unruly hair at the base of his skull for a moment before I pull his head to mine. Our mouths move against each other slowly, mimicking the movements of our bodies. I clench my inner muscles around him and he groans into my mouth, his hips jerking against me for a few moments.

“You’re killing me,” he whispers, but I can feel his lips curving into a smile. One of his hands unravels from my shoulders and moves down my side, making me jump when he hits just under my ribcage. I’m not terribly ticklish, but light touches like that always get me. Fortunately, he doesn’t seem to notice my reaction—though more likely, he’s filing it away for later use—and continues to trail his fingers down my side until he reaches my thigh, grabbing on tight. Without warning, he starts moving in deep, steady strokes, filling me completely for a few moments before leaving me almost entirely empty, the process continuing over and over and over.

“Oh, my God,” I gasp against his mouth, my fingers tightening against his skin. I realize at that moment that I am going to come. Not right this second, but if he can keep doing what he’s doing, he’s going to manage what I thought was the impossible.

Chapter Text

I start pushing my hips up against his again, unable to help myself. I want to be closer to him. I want to feel more of him. This is shaping up to be one of the most intense experiences of my life, at least sexually, and part of me can’t help but want to get there as fast possible. His hand on my thigh helps guide my movements, pulling me against him harder, faster.

Seems like we’re both moving toward the inevitable conclusion as quickly as we can. His muscles are tense and straining beneath my hands. His breathing is ragged, gasping into my mouth as we try out hardest to continue kissing.

“You’re amazing,” he whispers, and my eyes fly open, startled to find him staring back at me already. “You’re so beautiful.”

Not shockingly, hearing him to talk to me during is sex is as much of a turn on as anything else has been. He’s been stimulating my brain for far longer than he’s been stimulating anything else, so I don’t find it at all surprising that just his voice in my direction is going to help push me over the edge. I just wish I had words for him right now. There’s nothing I can think of that won’t sound trite, or that won’t stroke his ego more than I’m comfortable with. I’d love to tell him that he’s already the best sex I’ve ever had, even after just a couple of encounters, but I don’t think that’s the sort of thing he should hear right now. I don’t know how good of a job we’re doing at keeping this thing under wraps, but we certainly won’t have any secrets with the rest of the campaign staff if I tell him that. I can already picture him strutting around, grinning from ear to ear, randomly telling anyone who passes that he’s the best I’ve ever had. Subtlety isn’t his strong suit.

I want to tell him that he’s beautiful, that his bare flesh does things to me that I never would have expected, that the curves and planes and edges of his body are exquisite, like a work of art, but I don’t know how right now. I don’t know how to get those words out. I don’t know how to say it so that he’ll believe it.

“Ooohhhhhh,” I moan suddenly, his grip on my thigh tightening and I shift my hips up a little. My toes tense, curling against the backs of his legs. “Jooooosh.”

He bends his head down, his body contorting just a little bit, and takes one of my nipples in his mouth. I squeak and gasp, my fingers wrapping around his hair and tugging. He holds on resolutely, suckling at me with a ferocity I wasn’t expecting. Our hips move against each other just a little faster and my eyes open wide. That is the spot. Right there.

He moves to the other breast, latching onto that nipple with the same fervor, his tongue moving furiously, his teeth scraping gently, the suction out of this world.

I loosen the death grip I’ve had on his back and slide my hand down, grabbing onto his ass. I feel him jerk in surprise for a moment, but I bring him back to the rhythm, guiding his motions the way he’s been guiding mine.

His lips press against my sternum, his breath hot and damp against my skin. Our hips move against each other frantically, trying to maintain that wonderful, perfect pace we’ve found. I feel the tension building inside of me, the knot in the pit of my stomach, my thigh muscles tightening, holding him close, my inner muscles working overtime to keep up with what he’s doing to me. He grunts and gasps and I feel his teeth bite into the skin of my chest. It’ll probably hurt later, but right now it just sends shockwaves through every part of me.

His mouth moves up to my neck and he sucks at the base of my throat for a few long moments, maybe long enough to leave a mark—and I somehow can’t bring myself to care—before moving up to kiss the underside of my chin. He pushes into me just a little harder, just a little faster, and I feel something inside me start to unravel.

“Are you almost there?” he asks breathlessly, but I can’t answer him. I have no words. My mouth opens in a silent scream, no sounds coming out of me. My body goes completely rigid as I feel the first wave of an orgasm hit me. “Donna?” he whispers, moving his head to look at me.

“Josh,” I manage to choke out, and my body starts to spasm, a million things exploding in my head. I push against him unevenly, trying to get closer to him, desperate to crawl inside of him, my hands moving frantically as I try to hold onto him—as I try to keep myself somewhat tethered to this plane of existence. Somewhere deep in the part of my brain that never stops analyzing, I realize this is the elusive, strictly vaginal orgasm. I don’t know that I’ve ever had one of those before. I don’t know of many women who’ve had one of those, truthfully. I don’t know that we ever consider it a possibility…but there it is.

I think my head may explode. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt anything like this. I want to stop thinking about it and just enjoy it. I don’t know if it’ll ever happen again.

Finally, I manage to let out a long, low wail—a combination of vowels that I’m not sure I could ever replicate. It bounces off the thin walls of the hotel room, probably alerting anyone nearby of exactly what’s happening in here, and I just can’t seem to give a damn.

“Shit,” he chokes out suddenly, and I make my still-wide-open eyes focus on his face. He looks like he’s bordering on pain. I try to give my inner muscles a few more squeezes, hoping to put him out of his misery. “Shit, shit, oh, God, Donna,” he moans, his movements becoming jerky and sloppy as he comes, his eyes slamming shut. Even though my own body is still spasming, I watch his face, fascinated at the look of pure bliss I see there. His entire body goes tense, his muscles flexed so hard they feel like they’ll rip out of his skin. His face turns red, then his neck and his chest, and that’s all I see before my eyes fall shut of their own volition, the last few major swells of my orgasm crashing through me.

He nearly collapses on top of me, his body boneless, his breathing heavy in my ear. Our hips thrust against each other gently, dragging out the sensation for as long as possible. His pelvis against mine causes a friction that lets me know I could orgasm again without a whole lot of trouble, but I try to push that thought out of my head. My hips twitch anyway, possibly betraying me.

He picks up his head and smiles at me through half-lidded eyes, and our mouths meet again, kissing each other slowly now. My arms come up and wrap around his neck. His hands skim up and down my sides slowly, and this time it doesn’t tickle. I feel him shift and a moment later he slides off of me, and I can’t help but feel bereft without the contact. I keep my lips attached to his for as long as I can before he flops down next to me, sprawled on his back as we both gasp for air.

God, that was amazing. I don’t know if we have any right being that good at sex, though I suppose it was inevitable. Sex with us was either going to be explosive or a huge letdown. I don’t think there could have been any in between, not after all this time. There was going to be too much build up for it to be any good at all, or it would wind up being the best thing to ever happen.

I cannot even express to the universe how happy I am that being with Josh isn’t underwhelming.

The bed moves a little and I turn my head just a bit to watch him. He shifts around for a moment before pulling off the condom, wrapping it in a tissue he grabs off the nightstand and tossing it in the trashcan. He turns on his side quickly and wraps his arms around me, pulling us close together. His lips press against my cheek, my ear, my neck, before I turn my head. Our mouths meet, moving languidly, and I can’t help but think that this is what it should feel like after sex. Not that awkward stuff from earlier where we lie side by side, unsure of what to say or how to act. The moments after sex should be fun, too, helping to bring each other down from the heights of ecstasy, easing each other through the transition back to the real world.

Chapter Text

I wiggle a little closer to him, sliding one of my arms under his body to keep him near me. His hand strokes my stomach gently, his fingertips leaving trails of fire wherever they touch. I whimper a little into his mouth, quietly, but he picks up on it anyway. His arm tightens around my shoulders, and his other hand leaves my stomach and moves down to my hip. I shift closer to him.

“Let me know if I’m wrong about this,” he breathes, and before I can ask what he’s talking about, his hand disappears between my thighs. I nearly bite off his lip as my back arches off the bed for a moment.

“Fuck,” I gasp, my hand coming up to grab onto his bicep. He pauses for a moment, waiting to see if I’m going to stop him, but my hips push against his fingers greedily. Without another word, he rubs his fingers against me quickly. My legs clamp around his hand for a few moments, trying to keep him in place, before they fall open again, the comparatively cool air of the hotel room hitting my overheated skin, making me tremble all over.

I don’t know if I’ve ever been so turned on in my life. Not just in this moment, but with everything that’s happening with Josh. It feels like all the years of suppressed want and need are coming to the surface at one time, heightening every emotion and experience, making it all larger than life. I don’t know if it’ll always be like this with him—hell, I don’t know if I’ll get to be with him like this outside of this hotel room—and maybe that’s why it feels important to get as much out of this time together as I can.

I whimper again, loudly this time, and he adds more pressure to his movements. This is going to be another one of those embarrassingly quick ones. I can already feel everything inside of me coiling into a tight little spring.

I turn my head, my mouth searching for his, and I kiss him for a few long moments before I break away, gasping for air. He presses his forehead to mine, his eyes trained on my face. I struggle to keep my eyes open so I can see him, too, watching every expression he makes, trying to figure out what it is about him that gets to me the way he does. His eyes are still incredibly dark, the pupils still dilated from arousal. His lips are curved into a smile, the deep dimples that reel me in—that have always reeled me in—clearly visible. His curly hair sticks up in every direction, making him look like a combination of little boy and mad scientist. I know, somehow, that these aren’t the things that draw me to him. These are the obvious things, the things that his crazy fan club see and swoon over, the things that make him so charming even when he’s being an ass, and that help him get away with murder. I’m not immune to any of it, and they’re some of the first things I noticed about him all those years ago. I think what it is is that he hasn’t stopped watching me, not since last night. He’s been paying close attention to every single thing I’ve said and done, making note of the things that get the best reaction out of me. It’s something that he’s always done, for better or for worse. He knows what to say and do to make me so crazy that I want to strangle him, and now he’s learning what to do to make me absolute putty in his hands.

He notices me. Maybe not all the time; maybe there have been points where he hasn’t paid much attention to anything, but for the most part, I think that’s what it is about him. He sees me. I’m important to him, and not just in this way. For a lot of years, we’ve been a team, and an excellent one at that. We had to work at it sometimes, but most of it came naturally. I’m attracted to him—there’s no doubt about that. I find his eyes and his smile and his unruly hair utterly mesmerizing, but what keeps me coming back for more is that at the end of the day, we’ve always been more than physical.

He’s actually interested in my mind, and that might be what attracts me to him the most.

His fingers change directions suddenly and I gasp, digging my nails into his forearm. My head swirls, and my body tingles all over.

“I can’t believe I’m actually touching you,” he breathes, his face filled with wonder, and that’s all it takes to make me snap. My back arches off the bed, my hips thrusting frantically against his fingers, another orgasm crashing through me, nearly tearing me in two.

“Joooooooooooooooooooosh!” I wail, unable to say anything other than his name. I collapse against the bed, my breath coming out in short pants as he continues to move his fingers furiously against me. I push against hand, the sensations rushing over me, almost overwhelming.

It suddenly borders on painful and I grab his wrist, shoving his hand away. I gasp for a few moments, trying to compose myself before I laugh a little, a smile on my face so wide that I can already feel my cheeks aching. His hand slides across my hip, leaving a damp trail in its wake, and I turn into him, burrowing my face in his neck. My legs are shaking violently, and I’m sure he can feel it. His arms wrap around me, his fingers stroking up and down my back as his leg drapes over mine.

“Well,” I croak, my voice wobbly and strange. I clear my throat a couple of times. “That was fun.”

Josh snorts into my hair, and I can feel his body shaking as he laughs. “It was all right, I guess.”

I pinch his side and he yelps, twisting out of my grip. I pull my head from under his chin and slide up a couple of inches, resting my head on the pillow next to his. He grins at me broadly and reaches over, tucking my hair behind my ear. I sigh and, at least for a few moments, feel completely at peace. My body feels like Jell-O right now, all wobbly and unstable. I don’t know if I could stand right now if I wanted to.

“This is too comfortable,” he murmurs, his eyes still dark, still examining my face. “Think anyone would notice if we didn’t show up again?”

I giggle softly, suddenly struggling to keep my eyes open. “I’d say it’s a possibility.”

“We should probably get up,” he whispers.

“Probably,” I sigh, not able to care that I’m drifting off to sleep.

I feel a gentle touch on my shoulder and my eyes flutter open. Josh is sitting next to me, this time on the edge of the bed, and I sit up as fast as I can when I realize he’s fully dressed.

“I fell asleep?” I ask, my head foggy. “Oh, my—”

“Just for a couple of minutes,” he cuts me off, putting reassuring hand on my thigh, and it’s only then that I realize that the sheet and comforter have been draped over my body. “You passed out and I made myself get out of bed before I did, too.” I grip the blankets to my chest, suddenly feeling weirdly discombobulated and exposed. He scoots closer to me, resting his hand on the bed next to my hip. “I took a really fast shower, and I left everything out for you in case you wanted to also. Not that you need it,” he hurries to explain, a few traces of pink gracing his cheeks. “I didn’t know if it’d help wake you up.”

We stare at each other for a minute. I try to wrap my mind around what’s happening and reassure myself that what just happened wasn’t a dream, but my brain is still groggy and confused by the brief passage of time. Parts of my body are far too sore for me to have imagined it all. He shifts a little, looking uncomfortable, and I put my hand on his, squeezing just a little. “Thank you.”

He looks up at me again, a slow, bashful grin spreading over his face. “No problem.” He shifts around again, an uncertain look on his face for a few moments, before he treats me to a full-fledged smile. “I was thinking—”

“Always a dangerous past-time,” I tease, squeezing his fingers again. He just rolls his eyes.

“I was thinking that, should the worst happen tonight, there’s going to be the need for some comfort.”

It takes my brain a few long seconds to realize he’s talking about the election and its possible outcome. “Comfort would be essential.”

“Or, it could go the other way, and there could be cause for celebration.”

“That’s also a definite possibility.”

“Think you’d be interested in commiserating with me later on? Or, you know, celebrating?”

I shift a little closer to him, not even attempting to hide my smile. “Depends. Would this commiseration or celebration be naked?”

“I really think that’s the only way to do it, don’t you? You know, to get the full effect.”

“I think I could be amenable to that.”

I swear his smile lights up the entire room. “Really?”

My heart flutters a little, already anticipating tonight’s activities. Activities that he’s instigating no less. “Really.”

He leans forward and presses his lips to mine, kissing me slowly. I wrap my arm around his shoulders, the blankets I’d been clutching to my chest pooling around my waist. The hand resting beneath mine on the bed slides out and grabs my hip, his other arm wrapping around my back and dragging me closer. The sensation of my bare breasts rubbing against his shirt sends tingles to places I have no business getting tingles in right now.

We break apart, both breathing heavily, and his forehead rests against mine. “I have to get to the war room.”

“Okay.”

“It’s really hard when you’re sitting here naked.”

“It’s hard?” I ask in the most innocent tone I can muster.

“Shut up,” he whispers, pressing his lips to mine again.

This time, I’m the one that manages to pull away. I give his shoulder a gentle shove, pushing him as best I can toward the door. “Go. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

He nods and stands, keeping his eyes averted from my naked chest for all of a second before he zooms in on it, licking his lips subconsciously. I lean back on my hands and arch my back toward him, not caring at that moment if it looks casual or calculated. He backs toward the door, staring, and I swear he’s salivating. I slide one of my legs out from under the blankets and he actually whimpers.

“Go,” I insist, though part of me really wishes we could stay.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, his eyes raking over me one last time before he nods resolutely. “Yeah.” He grabs the door handle and yanks it open, marching through the door without a backward glance, and I sigh as it clicks shut behind him. The room suddenly feels eerily quiet, but somehow it’s only then that I realize the TV is still on, updating the country on the election. I look around for the remote half-heartedly, but God knows where it wound up.

I push the blankets back and put my feet on the floor, standing carefully. My knees are still wobbly, but I don’t fall down. I take a few tentative steps before bringing myself to the bathroom. I’m amazed and touched to see that he’s actually left the place set up for me—bathmat still in front of the tub, fresh towel hanging off the shower rod, curtain pulled back. It’s a little thing, but I’ll damned if it doesn’t do things to my insides that big gestures can’t manage to do.

I glance at myself in the mirror, then pause to examine myself for just a moment. I definitely look like a woman who was well and truly fucked. I look like I just had amazing sex. My cheeks are pink, my eyes are bright, my hair is mussed, and my skin is littered with tiny bite marks and fingerprints.

I shake my head and force myself to look away. I definitely need to rinse myself off—the smell of sex is heavy in the air right now, and I’m sure it’s all over my skin, as well. I turn on the water and go in search of a pen, finding one easily amongst Josh’s stuff. I twist up my hair and shove the pen through it, keeping it out of the way of the shower. I walk back into the bathroom and step under the spray, hissing as the water hits my sore muscles. I need to get myself together and get back out there.

We have an election to win.